


Everything (to me)

by PencilofAwesomeness



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And some more Hurt/Comfort, Comedy, Criminal Underworld, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Greed shouldn't be allowed to be a parent, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It can't be a Roy story without some angst, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Pre-Canon, Swearing, accidental adoption, but he isn't a bad one, there's nothing extreme but enough mentions that this gonna be rated T
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilofAwesomeness/pseuds/PencilofAwesomeness
Summary: When Greed sees something that interests him, he takes it. That's just how it is. There's no ulterior motives of sympathy or anything like that—in fact, he barely thinks it through. Really.Or, Greed sees a sad broken boy on the streets and takes him into the Devil's Nest...accidentally adopting a young and orphaned Roy Mustang in the process.





	1. Lost (and Found)

**Author's Note:**

> I know that there are other things I should be writing, but after bingeing Brotherhood and ultimately getting this idea stuck in my head, I acted upon it. And now...here we are. It'll be an interesting ride, folks, and I'm going to enjoy all of it very much.

“We'll live for something as soon as we find it  
May we come across that future  
Can you hear me? I'm screaming

Expired chances—  
But we gotta make it through again  
'cause there's no where else to run.”

– Yui Sakamoto (translation: Amanda Lee), "Again"

* * *

_March 8, 1890_

“Oi, kid, what’s a squirt like you doing out here? At a time like this?” Greed was not personally concerned with the small boy, covered in dirt and grime and other irritating substances, shoved in a corner of one of the arguably ‘bad’ areas of town in the middle of the night.

It had been a while since Greed had elected to roam the streets of Dublith, though he liked to do it from time to time. It was a gritty place, but it was private, and regardless of its standing, Greed liked to walk about and fancy the streets as his own. First Dublith…then more. Sure, he had tried to start some other places, but he had a good feeling about Dublith. So, when he wasn’t building the Devil’s Nest and expanding its tunnels, he liked to take a break and go dream. Normally, very little would distract him from this, but the little form in the corner of his eye caught his interest. Dublith was full of criminals and outcasts, those who didn’t want to be watched closely; it wasn’t a forgiving place, but it was candid in its own dishonesty, which was something Greed respected. So the child…the child was unexpected. He was a little thing, with shaggy black hair dipping over his face, huddled in some back alley hugging his knees and trying to look even smaller than he already was. He had never really seen children by themselves before…perhaps because the things simply couldn’t survive on their own.

No, it didn’t concern him, but he was…curious. Yeah. Curious. Humans were peculiar creatures as adults, and from little he observed children were even weirder. Glad he skipped that stage if kids were prone to kill themselves before adulthood. (They were amusing, though, he would admit. Grabby, selfish, firmly believing the whole world was theirs for the taking—he could respect their simple aspirations.)

The boy looked up to glare at him with black eyes. Greed had no way of guessing how old the squirt was, only that he probably only came up to his waist.

“Mommy told you not to talk to strangers, eh?” He laughed. “She should have told you not to run off in the middle of the night, too.” On a whim, Greed sneered down at the kid, pulling his lips to reveal a sharp smile just to see how he would react. He didn’t flinch, though he thought he saw a spark of fear in his eyes. Heh, smart but spunky—he kinda liked this one.

“She didn’t tell me nothin’!” the kid retorted obstinately, sniffling as he did so. Pipsqueak was shaking, too. (It was nighttime, so it might have been cold. Greed couldn’t really tell.) “She didn’t… she couldn’t… Daddy said so, but he’s… She’s…” He sniffled again, looking angry while doing so, and to Greed’s horror, the little shit was starting to cry. Well, this was decidedly less fun, now. Greed had half—no, seventy percent—of a mind to leave him right then and there, but he saw the two men down the street, hovering fruitlessly near a streetlamp with their cigarettes. They weren’t customers of his, though Greed knew almost every shady character in this region—traffickers, he thinks. Rivals, most importantly. He rolls his eyes up to the sky and sits down next to the kid—purely because he has nothing better to do. Maybe because he doesn’t want to strengthen a rival, not because even Greed finds them despicable, treating their cargo like throwaway pawns, made only for their own purpose and meant only to die again and again for a gain they will never possess.

Yeah, Greed sits next to the kid because he’s bored, and maybe his sob story will be interesting.

The pipsqueak had the audacity to glare at him for his efforts, too, but sucked it up with a shaky breath and glared straight ahead. Greed caught the men staring again, and he flashed them a jackal grin to watch them squirm.

“You runaway or something?” he prodded, wanting his time not to have been spent in vain.

The kid grunted, making a small noise in the back of his throat. “Not really,” came the hesitant reply. “Nothing there.” The tears were back, steady and racking in the squirt’s tiny little fragile human chest.

_Oi, this kid was going to play twenty questions with him, eh? _Greed peered at him curiously, though uneasily as he began to cry again. Such an ugly thing, humans did. (Homunculi could too, though.)

“Kicked out?” Greed tried again.

The runt mumbled something under his breath. “Sorry pipsqueak, didn’t catch that between your sniffling.”

“They’re dead, okay?!” The kid screamed it, the admission bursting from his lungs like it was the first time he said it aloud. “They’re dead, and I— and I—” The sobs were heavier now, and the kid hunched into himself and shook. _I didn’t know what to do. _

Damn kid, acting all sad like that. Panicked and homeless, out on the streets in the worst possible place and without a scrap of a life or where to start. With nothing to his name and no rock to stand on, fighting from scratch when everyone else started with _something. _Damnit. Damnit, damnit, _damnit_, he was _projecting. _

“You don’t have anywhere to go, do ya’ kid?” he supplied, surprised by the quietness in his voice. Ha. Him, _Greed_, sniveling over a crying child—well, nobody ever said he had to be _rude_. Not that he had to listen to what anybody said, anyways.

The kid shook his head, a small and quick motion. Greed had no idea how these kinds of things worked. He knew humans died easily—_could_ die—and he knew that kids were raised by their parents. He supposed that Amestris had probably encountered this before, though he didn’t know if the humans managed to fix it. (If it _could_ be fixed.)

Regardless, Greed wasn’t the government—and he knew that _Father _was involved with the government, so that was more of a reason to avoid officials like the plague—and he wasn’t even human, so he had his own way of doing things.

“H-hey, put me _down!_”

Greed held the squirming child under a single arm, unperturbed by his sudden, fiery thrashing and protests. He weighed nearly nothing, especially by a homunculus’ standards, so it certainly wasn’t hard. “No can do, kid. You just said you have nowhere to go—_I _happen to have one. Now shut up and let me put you under a roof, kid: it’s going to rain.” For some reason, Greed was having an inability to leave the kid alone on the streets. He supposed it was just his nature—he saw something, he took it.

The pipsqueak squirmed most of the way there, but tired himself out quickly. Greed slipped them through one of the back entrances of his wonderful, amazing, lustrous (still leaky, still renovating, still _empty_) bar that served as his base and his lair (_ha, _Dad_, I got my _**own**) with the kid in tow.

He snagged this plot of land from some deadbeat humans a little over five years ago. They didn’t seem to be putting it to good use, just meeting with crappy drinks and scheming… whatever it was, that they wanted, so having seen the potential of the real estate (the entrance to the tunnels, the sprawling rooms, the central-ness that was decidedly _far _away from Central City but close enough to warn him of things) Greed swooped in and took it for himself. Some of the men tried to fight him back for it, but they were no match for a homunculus like him: in the end, it was _his _and no one would take it from him.

He built it up, quite a bit. He had dreams and visions for this place, confident it would please him more than any other dwelling he had resided in during the seventy-some years following his retreat from Daddy-dearest. There were plenty of rooms in the main building, and some broaching the underground access point. He expanded it himself, even going as far as digging more rooms and more tunnels. (Even if he felt like Sloth while doing so, but it was all for _his _gain, so he didn’t mind.) The tunnels were a nice addition—they sprawled across Dublith and even gave convenient access to the train station…not that Greed planned on going anywhere, necessarily. (There were some nice places in Central, he would concede, but he also knew that _he _was in Central and Greed liked to keep his distance, thank you very much.) It also had _function_, which was a productive aspect that Greed found he rather enjoyed. Running around scaring people and flitting from place to place was a nice exercise of freedom, but it was terribly impractical and he had little to show for it—and Greed really preferred his efforts to actually _give _him something.

Greed jammed the key into his back door, which entered into the hall behind the bar area. It was late, so all of his workers would be gone—except for Bido, whom he allowed to stay in the back, provided he didn’t get in his way. He made a good guard, even if he was a little skittish.

Once inside and locked back up, Greed dropped the kid…causing him to stumble onto the ground. The squirt looked back up at him and leveled an impressive glare, though any effect it might of have was lost in his round tear-stained cheeks. “What was that for?” he pouted indignantly.

Wow, such obstinance. “You’re welcome,” Greed replied pointedly. Really, he had no business being as benevolent as he was—unlike Bido, the pipsqueak had no practical value that he could currently decipher. But eh, Greed had nothing better to do at the moment, and at this point, he didn’t feel like throwing the kid _back _out—that would be surrendering, and Greed didn’t surrender _anything. _

The kid continued to stare, eyes glazing into some blank imitation of the fire inside of them prior as he simply looked about the establishment. Resignation, or perhaps, simply exhaustion. The smallfry looked like crap, like some weak and worthless little duckling who lost its way in the world. It was kinda sad, really.

Greed realized, then, that he really didn’t know what he was doing. What did kids want? What did they need? He sort of let Bido run around and do whatever it was that he needed, but he doubted that the young gecko chimera had the same functions as a human kid. They were supposed to be taken care of, weren’t they? It sounded like a lot of work, and for what? Good feelings? Maybe it was a training thing—you help a kid out and they help _you _out later. He supposed it wasn’t that much different than the unspoken agreement Greed had with his men.

Well, he wasn’t a quitter. He would deal with the effects of his impulsivity later, but for now, Greed would just go along with the punches and take his best shot. “You need food?” he guessed. Humans needed food, he knew. Even if he didn’t himself, food was enjoyable, so he figured he couldn’t go wrong with that.

The kid stayed quiet, but with his hands moving to hold his stomach, he nodded miserably. Aha, this was pretty easy after all. Greed strolled into the kitchen, hearing the belated totter of the child’s legs behind him, and grabbed the first thing available. He handed over a slice of cheese bread and a bottle of beer, even taking the extra step of popping the cap off for him, since he doubted the squirt could manage it by himself. “Here ya’ go, pipsqueak.”

He took the bread in his dirty hands (maybe he should have made the kid clean them first, but oh well) and stared at it for a moment, before taking a tenuous bite…and then practically devouring the rest of it in one go. The squirt then moved to greedily take a sip of the drink, but nearly choked on it, spraying the liquid across the table and screwing his face in disgust. “Ewww,” the kid whined. “That was bad.”

“Hey, it’s a good brand!” Greed replied indignantly. It was cheap yet largely undisputed—perfect for distribution. “What, you don’t drink beer?”

The little twerp stared a bit, then shook his head vehemently. Oi, picky little sucker. “What _do _you drink?” Greed asked irritably.

After a moment a thought, the squirt chirped, “Orange juice!”

“You really are picky, ain’t ya?” He indulged himself in a deep, longsuffering sigh. “Could ya just drink the beer? You gotta drink something.”

Another vehement headshake, some level of terror in his still twisted face. “Oiiii.” Greed stalked over to the icebox and examined its contents. Yeah, there wasn’t much in here, except some more cheese, some grapes, and… Greed eyed the crickets warily; well, Bido did what he wanted with his stuff, he supposed, but he was thinking that perhaps he should consign his men to keep up with their own belongings, because looking at the jar was gross.

Ugh, what else…? “Okay, twerp, it’s either the beer or water: take it or leave it.”

“…water…” Well, at least the kid knew what he wanted.

Greed took the beer from him and shoved it back into the icebox for later (it was still perfectly good, and he didn’t like wasting things) and grabbed a glass and filled it at the tap. He slid the glass over. “Here ya go, pipsqueak.”

“That’s not my name!” the kid mumbled indignantly as he sucked in the water.

“I don’t know your name, twerp.”

“My name’s Roy,” he said, like he was proud he remembered it. “What’s yours?”

“The name’s Greed,” he replied, with practiced flourish. This was normally the part where he would make humans uncomfortable, with a sharp-toothed smile and unnatural violet eyes. He didn’t bother to hide what he was, even if he was selective with showing it off; it was useful, however, in making the humans that thought they could trifle with him realize that he was far beyond their level, something incomprehensible to their simple minds. He was a symbol of their fear, or their shortcoming—made to be so—and even if it was dangerous to reveal himself, he relished in the power of the truth that he held.

“That’s a dumb name,” was all the kid said, perfectly candid and innocent.

Well…

“Yeah, well, ‘Roy’ sounds like a brat’s name.”

“Nu-_uh!”_

“Whatever, Roy-boy.”

The pipsqueak pouted, and Greed would be lying if he didn’t find it amusing and kind of cute. He went back to his water, drinking steadily until he slowed, eyes drooping as he did so. Before Greed knew it, the kid was practically asleep on the table. Well, that didn’t look comfortable, and he wasn’t keen on the brat drooling on his table.

“Come on.” The kid groaned and hardly stirred. Damn, he fell asleep fast. Rolling his eyes, Greed hefted the kid up, surprised when instead of struggling, the sleepy pipsqueak practically snuggled into his shoulder instead. Well. This was interesting—kids were unpredictable creatures, weren’t they?

Greed ended up carrying the kid to his room, since all the other rooms were either bare and waiting for stuff or filled with an assortment of goods already. Even though Greed didn’t need to sleep, he had a bed anyways, because he _could _have one. Well, Greed hadn’t planned on sleeping tonight—he normally slept during the day when he did—so he laid the passed-out kid on the bed, set the blanket on top of him, and left him be until the morning, leaving with the strange feeling that his life was never going to be quite the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be updated weekly (hopefully) every weekend, either Friday or Saturday.
> 
> And boy, Greed does _not_ know what he just got himself into...


	2. Errands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greed does what Greed does best:  
1) get stuff  
2) ignore his problems
> 
> ...and he's not quite as good at number two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a character who has a personal code to be candid and honest, yet who is simultaneously in denial, is a little tricky but a lot of fun. I have enjoyed writing Greed immensely.

"Waste away  
I'm crawling blind  
Followed by what I left inside  
For you, just you  
I'm caught in place  
But I ignore what I can't erase."

_\- _Red, "Hide"

* * *

_March 9, 1890_

By the time the night had passed, Greed almost forgot about the kid.

Almost.

He emerged from the tunnels, his map a little more detailed than before. He had found a passage to Kady recently, and the night was just long enough to confirm that it went there. The old mine shaft might have gone to Zegto, and Greed would have normally pushed the limits of how far he could go, but he remembered the little kid he laid onto his bed, and then spontaneously decided to head back to the Nest before morning. He hadn’t told any of his workers that he might be out overnight anyway, so it would be bad practice not to return.

The trip back gave plenty of time for thought, which was usually spent on Greed’s grandeur plans, but this time was entirely spent trying to figure out what to do with the kid. He was painfully aware, at this point, that this was one of his more _extreme _impulsive decisions. He would never turn back on any of them, because he was _Greed _and he took what he wanted, but he also needed to upkeep his stuff. The bar itself had been a process to acclimate to—there were rules and regulations, as there were traditions and practices that people generally expected he adhere to. Which was irritating, but Greed saw the point in most of it: humans wanted to trust that an establishment would get them what they wanted, and not to turn around and slap them with sickness and a bad time. Yeah, Greed understood the desire to want to be able to trust something—to _be _trustworthy—so he wouldn’t begrudge the humans in the same way. Were there things that Greed swept underneath the rug and ignored? Absolutely. It was par for the course in Dublith anyways, it seemed, to keep secrets. However, despite the learning curve, running the bar had been a challenge Greed readily accepted and adjusted to—keeping a kid couldn’t be that much harder, could it?

They were humans, just smaller and more dependent. Food, water, sleep…clothes (because he was covered in grime and dirt, and that was disgusting)—Greed made a mental list of the things the kid would need to not die. Unlike his henchman, however, Greed didn’t think the kid could do any of that on his own. Aggravating, perhaps, but if that was the price of a kid’s loyalty, then it wasn’t anything of consequence to him; although, what was a kid’s loyalty worth? He doubted he could run the bar or make a good bodyguard—not for another ten years, he guessed. Maybe the kid could clean? He was a small squirt, though, so even _that _might not work. Oi, kids weren’t that useful, were they? Briefly, Greed considered that it might be more trouble than it was worth and that he should just let the kid go back to…wherever it was, that he came from, but Greed already knew that the kid had no home and… Well, he would be lying if he said that it didn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth to let the pipsqueak run off and die after Greed went through the trouble of saving him—and Greed didn’t lie.

It was morning by the time Greed ambled back up the tunnels and into the back of the Devil’s Nest. The bar wouldn’t be open until noon, so he didn’t need to worry about business just yet; he should have enough to figure out…whatever it was he was going to do with this kid.

“Morning, Mr. Greed,” a timid voice called out.

Greed saw Bido inching behind him from the corner of his eye and turned to greet his subordinate. “Morning,” he inclined. The young man was polite to a fault, quiet and always portraying an air of nervousness. It was a step up than what he was when Greed first encountered him, a couple of months ago; Bido had been alone in the tunnels, trembling and muttering to himself like a madman and jumping at every shadow. He could tell, even from the dim light, that Bido wasn’t human—not with the long and limp tail coming from his hide; he was fairly young, too, for human standards, but Greed was bad at gauging that—he was full grown (he believed) but had that smoothness about him (save from the patches of scales) that usually denotated youth: a state that he himself got to perpetually enjoy. A part of Greed had feared, then, that he was another homunculus—sent out perhaps to destroy him once and for all—but Bido had barely been in a state to be dangerous. He screamed and cried when Greed approached, and the almost-attack turned into a nearly thirty-minute session of trying to get near enough to the man as to not startle him.

That night, Greed had learned that Father had learned to make human chimeras. He could see the appeal—they transcended their humanity and became strengthened by controllable means yet were able to retain the unique part of humans that made them quite useful; however, Greed couldn’t help but to feel his skin crawl at the process. He hadn’t had a choice in the matter of being created, and Bido… Well, Bido _had _a life before, albeit a terrible one as a thief then a prisoner, and then he too received no choice in becoming reborn. It was enough for Greed to pity him (something he has been making a habit of, unfortunately…) and to allow him to return with him. Besides, Bido’s lizard like state—which had allowed him to escape in the first place—was extremely useful, especially between the infrared senses and the quiet movements. And, Greed was somehow more comfortable revealing himself and his dreams to a fellow non-human. All in all, it was mutually beneficial relationship, he believed—though, of course, Greed was in charge.

“You…” In the midst of his musing, Bido had wrung his hands together and built the courage to speak some more. Honestly, it was as if he expected Greed to hit him just for speaking, sometimes; an angry little part of Greed dreaded to know exactly why that was. “You came back with a…little one…last night?”

“Ha! Of course you would notice,” Greed laughed. It proved Bido’s effectiveness, and he liked that. “Yeah, found a lost kid last night; brought ‘im back here.” He shrugged casually, as if it _wasn’t _some sort of life-altering decision he made on a whim—he still hasn’t figured out if it _was _but honestly, he hasn’t put much thought to it because he doesn’t want to know.

Bido nodded slowly; there were opinions behind his eyes—he could tell. Greed raised a brow at the chimera, prompting him to spill it; he hated not knowing things. Bido offered a shy smile. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

He frowned at this, not sure why the notion bothered him. He wasn’t charitable or anything—he was _Greed_. The personification of avarice, the precise opposite of charity. And yet…yet Greed didn’t necessarily mind if others had nice things, so long as _he _had all the nice things. A peculiar sentiment, really, and Greed didn’t want to think about the implications of that either: he did what he wanted, and it was as simple as that. Everything was for his (eventual) gain, and that was a philosophy Greed had no problem with. So, he laughed again and went to pat Bido on the shoulder. “Eh, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do—might as well find use for him here. Speaking of which, could you go get…I dunno, some food that isn’t whatever it is that you eat for him? I’m gonna go make sure the pipsqueak is situated.”

Bido nodded, though there was still some curious glint in his reptilian eye. Greed didn’t quite understand all of the chimera’s mannerisms yet, but he was getting better, just as the chimera was growing more comfortable—which was good, because he liked his stuff in good condition. He scurried off, and Greed turned towards the room—_his _room, actually: he made a note to find another room for the kid, because this arrangement was by no means permanent—and slowly entered.

The kid was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and fiddling with the hem of his gray-blue shirt. He startled when he entered (he really needed less jumpy henchmen) but seemed to visibly calm when he recognized Greed, jumping off the bed and moving towards him, looking expectant.

“Morning,” Greed prompted, bemused by the child’s mannerisms. “Sleep well?”

He nodded amicably, but after a moment’s thought, the ill-mannered disposition the kid had been well-versed in the previous night returned. “Why is your bed so huge?” he asked, almost accusatory.

Well, he was going to have to teach this kid a thing or two about life, then. “Because bigger is better, squirt. But if you want a small bed, that’s your loss.”

“But…_I’m _small.” Small thinker, too.

“Yes, you are, squirt. Yes, you are…”

He pouted again, a familiar expression from the night before. “My name is _Roy_.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, kid. This is _my _house.” For some reason, antagonizing Roy was fun, and he enjoyed the pet names.

“Whatever, old man…”

“Rude little brat.” He sighed, though a chuckle came up after a moment of thought. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he amended, amused although still a little offended that he would accuse such a thing by looks alone—because he looked _great_. A perk of not aging.

Anyways, what had he come here to do…? Right: figure out what to do with the kid. Greed tilted his head and appraised the little squirt: he was filthy, both in body and apparel; he needed his own space that wasn’t Greed’s (_everything _here was his, but he was content with loaning out rooms for the sake of occupation); he probably needed stuff, like clothes and a bed, along with better food (which reminded him that the bar’s kitchen needed to be restocked anyways—he’ll put Jack on that); and, he needed to find a way for this kid to earn his keep, because nothing was free.

“Come on, kid, let’s get you the food Bido made,” he decided, opening the door. “We’ll get you cleaned up after.” While he was eating, Greed should probably pick him up another set of clothes so they could clean his current ones; he wouldn’t have the kid running around and dirtying his bar with his very presence. He had _standards_.

“Who’s Bido?” the kid questioned.

Right. That was probably going to be news to the little human squirt, though Greed had no intentions of keeping secrets within his own establishment. “He’s my henchman,” Greed explained simply. “He’s not exactly human, though, so don’t be surprised.”

“Oh.” The kid seemed thoughtful at this and remained that way until they rounded the corner into the kitchen. His dark eyes fixated on Bido’s tail, and then the rest of him, in wide-eyed wonder. Unlike most other people, the reaction was neither fearful nor violent; instead, Roy removed himself from Greed’s side and stumbled over to Bido, hands making their way to the long gecko tail almost immediately.

His chimera flinched away, initially, but gradually lowered his tail back within the reach of the child. Neither one broke eye contact, and somewhere within that exchange, Bido must have determined the kid to be safe. He wasn’t sure if it was his animal instinct, or the logical deduction that there was no way the scrawny pipsqueak _could _be a threat, but Greed was glad they got along. He watched as the little kid ogled over Bido’s tail and as the chimera visibly warmed to the kid, the sandwich on the counter momentarily forgotten in their meeting.

Greed leaned against the doorframe and watched, fascinated by the scene. It was…well, he wasn’t sure of a good word for it, but it was enjoyable and… surreal, in a way. Watching profited him nothing but he lingered for a moment, letting them go on, before he cleared his throat and shifted back to his feet. “After breakfast, you two find him a room, okay? I’ll be back later.” With that, he pulled away and set off to run his errand, a smile tugging at his lips as he considered what he had just witnessed.

—o0o—

‘Errand’ turned into errand**_s_**.

As Greed made his way to the clothing store—which was towards the other side of town, the nicer part—he realized that the kid would need something to sleep on too, because the floor would suck. And blankets, because humans needed that kind of thing, and as Greed looked around at people still in sleeves and sweaters, he realized it must still be fairly cold.

The list grew in his head, and he groaned as he tallied the approximate cost. Damn, kids were expensive… Granted, he didn’t care about money as much as he did the things money could _get _him, but it was still useful in and of itself. But, he had already committed to this, and he wasn’t one to go back on his word, so Greed just had to trust that this would still work out to his benefit in the end.

Resolute, Greed altered his initial path and headed off to the pawn shop before it was too much out of his way. There were many shops of this nature in Dublith—general goods, re-sell, etc.—and most of them were just as suspicious as they looked; Harry’s was no exception—in fact, his willingness to deal in less than legal exchanges was beneficial to Greed—but he favored the little consignment/pawn shop because at least Harry wouldn’t try to swindle him…anymore. (The short pudgy little man tried once, but was rather easy to scare out of his bull-shitting ways when… ‘called out.’) He swung open the door to the ratty place with a bit of flourish. “Yo, Harry!” he called, peering about the scantly packed store. (All the good stuff was in the back, to avoid temptation of stealing; Greed _could _if he wanted to, but he was content with building his empire on more concrete means.)

The man appeared from the back, looking irate until he spotted Greed. His eyes widened, but then he grinned when he determined that Greed appeared friendly. “Heheh, my favorite customer!” he greeted, clapping his hands together. “What’re you after this time, hm? I got some new appliances in—ever use one of those new coffee machines? I know you run that bar, but this baby makes a mean—and cheap!—cup of joe.”

It…was tempting, actually. Caffeine did as much to him as alcohol did—which is to say, nothing—but coffees and teas tasted _good_. BUT, _but_, it wasn’t why he was here. “Sounds fancy, but I’m here for something else, actually.” Greed leaned forward on the counter. “Got any beds? Maybe a nightstand, or something.”

The man paused at this, raising an inquisitive eyebrow high enough to cascade wrinkles across his bald head. “Oh? Beds you say. This is your third one…” He smiled knowingly. “Got ladies moving into your place, eh? Maybe I should come visit that bar of yours, Greed.”

He wishes. Greed waved a hand, dispelling his implications, as lovely as they were. “Nah, just for my men. My gig’s a twenty-four hour one, ya’ know?” He grinned, and by nature he knew it was one of those really sharp ones.

“I…don’t have a bedframe in right now, but I have some mattresses; but for you, good sir, I can have the rest of your order ready to go by tomorrow night,” Harry explained, puzzled expression turning to that good-natured I-want-to-get-your-money grin. The short little man didn’t ask too many questions, and in turn, Greed didn’t ask him many either; it was a simple, professional relationship, right down to the knowledge that all they wanted was each other’s stuff. It was something Greed could respect, really.

“Excellent. You deliver?”

The shop-keep grinned. “That can be arranged—for a price, of course.”

Well, he could always get Jack and Patrick to go get the stuff; he _was _paying them for their services, and this should be included. No need to pay extra for that—unless the two humans weren’t capable. It was hard for him to tell their limits, sometimes, although surely the two men would be enough? He would send Bido, but he would never make the poor chimera go out in the unwitting and scornful gaze of the public; besides, it would be terribly inconvenient if the government came bearing down on him for their experiment back, and Greed really didn’t want to relocate _again. _

“I’ll send my men to get it,” he decided. “I’ll pick up the mattress, though, on my way back.” There was really no need for him to go all the way back to the Nest just to send his men back, not when Greed was plenty capable himself of getting it done faster, and without sacrificing his working bar staff.

Harry nodded, though Greed could still spot that damn curious glint in his beady little eyes. It wasn’t as if Greed would lie to him—because he _didn’t **lie**_—but Greed didn’t particularly want to show his cards either. And for some reason…for some reason, he felt the inexplicable need to keep the kid close to his chest, at the moment. It wasn’t as if he was some inhuman ‘freak of nature’ like he or Bido was, but he was also an anomaly in this type of work, Greed knew. Kids were…messy subjects, and terribly vulnerable and helpless, and he knew people tended to be sensitive about them for whatever reason—and Greed really didn’t want any nosy bastards poking at his business, because that would be bad for _everyone _involved, including the kid…probably. Honestly, Greed was more and more aware that he was out of his depth—which really, was a par for the course in his life—and that he didn’t really know the full implications of the events that transpired. Not that he was going to let a stranger—or anyone, for that matter—peer into his own insecurities. Ha. He was Greed! A Homunculus! He didn’t have _insecurities…_that was a bad word for it. It was a…reservation. An uncertainty. Yeah, yeah that was it. Regardless, Greed leveled his best neutral face towards the pudgy little human as the exchanged continued.

“That’ll be twenty thousand cens, for the package,” Harry stated.

He grimaced slightly at the amount. It was fairly normal, he supposed, but he only paid eleven thousand for Bido’s mattress and covers (he didn’t want a frame—the tail made things awkward) but surely the extra piece wouldn’t cost that much extra. “Eighteen,” he countered curtly.

“Nineteen-fifty, because you’re a good customer.”

“Only if you throw in that coffee machine of yours.”

Harry laughed one of those deep, belly laughs that could be infectious if you weren’t careful. “And that’s why you’re one of my favorite customers, Greed.”

“Damn right,” he shot back, grinning as he slapped the money down on the counter. The shop-keep wasn’t half-bad himself. He might have been human, but…Well, most everyone was, and Greed found he couldn’t fault them for that. He wasn’t sure _how _to fault them for that, although his ‘siblings’ from way-back-when sure had a few ways. It wasn’t like any of them could help what they were born as, anyway.

He left the shop before his thoughts spiraled again, giving a mock salute and a promise of return as he did so.

—o0o—

The other side of Dublith was weird.

It wasn’t like _his _side of Dublith, where there were unspoken boundaries and the rule of the strongest prevailed, the government’s law secondary to all else. However, it still wasn’t like some of those other cute, little, sleepy towns where all was well and they trusted each other, because it was still _Dublith_—just…less violent. A little more law-abiding, like they were _pretending _they were normal when they all knew just how abandoned Dublith was by the rest of the cities, having fallen short of their ‘standards.’

He liked his side better.

_But_, his side of Dublith was also a shithole and barely had anything of consistent reliability or quality, especially the mundane stuff like clothing. _Especially _kids’ clothing.

Something, he realized as he was staring at the rows full of varying styles and sizes, that he knew nothing about. He must have looked so lost and so utterly _stupid_, standing before the section blankly as he barely grazed each item. Damn, kids must grow a _lot _because there were only about thirty different sizes between what Greed would have deemed small and small_er. _Nothing like normal adult-human clothing, where they were only a few distinctions and they made _sense_.

Greed sighed defeatedly but got to work trying to sort through them anyway. He had only identified the kid as being ‘small’ before, but trying to figure out how that translated was bothersome. He was… well, standing, Roy barely reached just below his hip and weighed as much as a couple of sacks of potatoes. Well, not to brag, but he _was _fairly good at visualization, at least, so Greed resorted to lifting up random items, squinting one eye at them, and trying to picture it in relation to the pipsqueak.

“Having trouble, sir?”

Greed was so engrossed with trying to decipher the clothing that he nearly didn’t notice the clerk approaching him until it was too late. He startled, jerking his head back to face the woman and making her startle in turn with his violent gesture. (Good. She deserved it, sneaking up on him—_him!_—like that.)

“N—” He wanted to make a retort, but the word died on his tongue, tasting sour; he settled for a curt “I can handle it” instead.

The woman, with puffy auburn hair and a freckled nose, leveled a rather displeasing look from behind her glasses. She looked like a rather unassuming dame, nothing like the women Greed usually traipsed around with, but he could appreciate the curves of her body and the utter BS-destroying vision in her gaze. He supposed there were worse humans to have help him…

“…what size do I need for a boy about ‘yea’ high?” Greed grumbled, waving his palm at the correct height. “Shirt, pants, jacket…”

She nodded dutifully, walking him over to a specific section. “Nephew?” she prompted casually.

“No.” What was a nephew again? He knew it was a familial relation, so he wasn’t lying, but Greed had to wrack his brain to remember exactly how that worked; there were so many terms out there, he got them mixed up, sometimes.

She hummed in acknowledgement, not prying again—yet. “This is the four to six range,” she announced. “Though you know that’s a hard size to nail down for boys. They grow up fast at that age.” There was a wistful sort of glint in her eyes, and she did little to remove it. “How old is he?”

Greed had absolutely no idea. ‘_Young_’ wasn’t a clear indication, but it was all he had to go on—_really _young, specifically. Of course, _everyone _was young compared to him, so that was a bad comparison in and of itself. He never really paid attention to age, since it had no effect on him; the only reason he had a vague idea of how old he was, was because Greed knew enough about history to place himself into the timeline. Key dates, and stuff of the like… “I don’t know,” he answered lightly, but he made a mental note to ask the squirt, because Greed liked knowing things.

The woman’s eyes filled with questions again, but instead she just smiled and held out a red shirt with long sleeves and black and white stitching. “This might be a little big, but he’ll grow into it,” she said.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he shrugged, picking up the shirt. He wasn’t about to argue with a woman. Although he couldn’t even if he felt the need to be autonomous here, because he had no idea what to do here. It was a little nerve-wracking, how out of his depth he was. Maybe he should find a book or something…

Greed picked up a blue sweater that was near the shirt the woman picked. The kid was wearing blue when he found him, so he probably liked the color. It wasn’t that expensive, either. “Think this will work?”

The woman smiled at him, and even though a part of Greed relished it, he was confused on the implications. He guessed women really did like kids… Hm, maybe the pipsqueak would make a good mascot of sorts? Not a lot of women came around his bar, but he would like to change that. On the other hand, to his gristly patrons that Greed had been making a habit to wheedle information out of, a visible kid would make him look soft, and Greed wasn’t _soft_—he was _Greed. _He shoved the thoughts away again, trying to focus on the moment. As much as he loved to dream of the future, it was turning out to be a little too distracting and too uncomfortable right now.

The clerk helped him get a jacket, another shirt, and two pairs of pants. It was a lot, and Greed wasn’t fancying the thought of needing anything more than this for the kid, but it should do for now. At the very least, she promised he could return any item that didn’t fit, and they would switch it out for something bigger.

She checked him out, and Greed slipped her his card with a promise of a free drink and a good time. She giggled a little, but Greed was quite sure that he would never see her outside of this store. He knew that one of the criteria for “life’s completeness” was women—that promise of sexual affection—but honestly, he had the worst luck when it came to it. Not to mention that his hook-ups had never been fulfilling past the night. Maybe if they stayed longer? Humans tended to settle down with one partner, but that didn’t seem like much to him. Ugh, it was confusing, so Greed shoved the thought out of his head again to file into his growing ‘Future Problems’ list.

Walking around the city could be enjoyable, but these errands were proving taxing to his mental health. The relief Greed felt to be heading back to the Nest—a single place—with the prospect of not leaving it and its occupants for the foreseeable future was nearly palpable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _know_ that Bido probably came with the other chimeras, but we don't know for certain, so I elected to involve him earlier since he looked to be the most "incomplete" chimera in terms of not being transformative or subtle. Plus, I really wanted an excuse to get one of the chimera gang to interact with baby Roy. Grow the family, and all that jazz.
> 
> Anywho, let me know what you think! I always enjoy hearing other people's thoughts and ideas. See y'all next week.


	3. A Second Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy has opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written the full POV of a little kid before. This was an interesting experience, and I hope I did it justice. Also, I really want a thesaurus where I can turn my usually diction into kid-diction, because I highly doubt little kids would use words like "jubilant" and "despondent" in their heads.
> 
> Oh, and, uh... I might have made myself cry while writing one little scene in particular. Just a little.

"You've got to go on, further than you've ever gone  
You've got to run far from all you've ever known."

— The Oh Hello's, "Second Child, Restless Child"

* * *

“Uh ‘oom?” Roy piped the question around a mouthful of food. It was a sandwich, with lots and bread and cheese, and even though it was a little mushy and weird. It wasn’t like the sandwiches his mom made, but that was okay.

The lizard man had said that he could pick out his own room after breakfast. (Although, sandwiches weren’t breakfast foods, they were lunch, so Roy was confused about that.) He had a room, though…but that was back at his house, but he left his house because it was…bad. He got nervous just thinking about it. So, a new room? Did that mean he lived here now? Roy supposed that was okay, since he didn’t live in his house anymore—the _other_ house—since he left. Had to leave. Roy messed up really bad, and he really didn’t want to do it again. The thought made him nervous and scared and really, really sad. He tried not to cry in front of Bido, because that would be bad too, and he didn’t want them to know stupid he was.

“Yes, your own room,” the lizard man confirmed, smiling a little bit. Roy smiled back at him, happy that he was happy.

But he still didn’t quite know what that meant. “And that’s okay?” he asked, hesitant. Sometimes Daddy would get mad when he asked too many questions, even though Roy didn’t _understand _so many things—and that’s what questions were for, right?

Bido the Lizard Man seemed patient though, a little like Mommy. And he wasn’t sick, so nobody would get mad when he asked questions. He and Greed didn’t get mad and they answered all of his questions without trouble. It was nice, even if they were bad at actually answering them.

“Mr. Greed said it was, and he’s the boss,” he replied. “And…well, I don’t suppose you have anyone else to go, do you little mister?”

“…no…” he agreed sullenly. He felt stupid and helpless, to have to be taken in by strangers, but Roy knew he didn’t have anything better. Nobody ever visited him and his parents, so he was sure that no one else was out there who would care about him. His Daddy said so, one time.

“Want to know a secret?” Bido the Lizard Man said suddenly. Roy brightened at this, and nodded, because he liked knowing things because knowing things made him smarter and feel important. Only important people got to know secrets! The older man smiled shyly. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go, either. People don’t like me, because I look like this, but Mr. Greed gave me a place here—a second chance.”

Roy gaped at him, because Bido was cool and _special_ and an _adult_; there was no way he would be lost and stupid like Roy was… Was there? The thought of Roy not being the only one to mess up and lose his home and his family was comforting, in a weird way, so he didn’t feel as bad anymore.

A second chance…a second family? Roy wasn’t sure that was how these things worked, but he didn’t know that it _didn’t _work like this, so he accepted it for what it was. Well, it wouldn’t be a family, because there was no mom or dad or cute little house, but he supposed that this was all he got this time. _But_, because he would get a room, then that made this his new home. Right? Besides that, Roy _was _sure of one thing:

He wouldn’t mess up, this time.

He wouldn’t let anyone die again.

Filled with resolution, Roy followed Bido the Lizard Man into the hallway, which was nothing like his old one—straight and short—but really twisty and complicated. It was kind of fun, like a maze! There were a lot of rooms, too, though most of them were empty or just filled with boxes and stuff that Bido said belonged to Greed, even though Roy knew that Greed already had his own room. (Well, since Greed was ‘in charge’ here, then that meant that the house belonged to Greed; Daddy had said that he was in charge and that their house—and everything in it—was his, too, so Roy thought it must be the same thing, or at least similar.)

“Do you know which room you want, little mister?”

All the rooms looked kind of the same, although he knew he wanted an empty one. Although, Roy didn’t really want to be alone either… Some of the rooms were far back in the house and full of concrete, and they creeped him out, just a little bit. (He wasn’t _scared_, because only babies were scared, just…uncomfortable. Yeah. Nothing wrong with that.)

So, he would pick something he was familiar with, and he knew absolutely how to get to. “That one,” he announced happily, pointing at his chosen room. He never actually picked out the room at his old house; it was nice, to pick one for himself. Made him feel important.

Bido blinked slowly, and Roy noticed that he blinked all wrong—it was side-ways, not up and down. Huh. “The one next to Mr. Greed’s room?”

Roy nodded. That’s what he said! “Uh-huh. He’s not using it, right?”

“No… I don’t think so…” Bido replied finally, peering in the room yet again. It was empty, so Roy knew it was free. It was bigger than his last room, too!

He walked in the room, soaking it in. But then he realized… “I…don’t have any stuff,” Roy admittedly sheepishly. He didn’t bring anything but his backpack when he ran away from his old house, and the first night he put it down because it was heavy, but when he came back it was gone. He should have been more careful with it…

The thought of having nothing was troubling to him, though he didn’t know exactly why. It was weird. Like he was lost and empty and useless, which he _was_, because he had been very, very lost. And sad. And lonely. No stuff, no parents… But he had Bido the Lizard Man now, and Greed (the Shark Man?); they were both a little weird, but they talked to him and gave him food and a room and a…a ‘second chance,’ and Roy _was _grateful for that. Mommy said it was good to be grateful for anything, and he understood that a little better now. (It was hard to understand the first time, because she was so sad and so sick, and Roy wasn’t grateful for that. He had wanted her to be happy and better.)

“I didn’t either,” Bido admitted. “But we’ll be sure to fix that, hm?” He bent down, positioned to share another secret. “Mr. Greed got me a bed—I think he’s getting you one, too.”

“Really?” Roy bounced a little, excited at the prospect.

“Really.” Bido the Lizard Man smiled and motioned towards another place down the hall. “Come on, little mister—let’s get you cleaned up.”

And Roy happily followed him.

—o0o—

“Oi, there you are.”

Roy blinked up at the door in—well, he wasn’t _surprised _to see Greed there, because he knew he lived here, but Roy didn’t know when he was going to show up. He had a bag over his shoulder and weird circular glasses on his nose as he looked down at him.

“I took a bath!” he exclaimed, admittedly excited. Mommy had always tried to do it, but she was tired a lot and Roy was a big boy and he could do it himself. And he did! He was proud of himself.

He didn’t have any more clothes, though, since he lost his backpack. Bido gave him a big towel though, which he was sitting in while his clothes dried. He was a little cold, being out of the bath, but the towel was pretty warm.

“I see that,” Greed commented lightly, looking at him curiously. Roy returned the look, because he noticed Greed’s eyes were weird too—they were kinda purple and the black part wasn’t a circle like it should be. Did sharks have weird eyes like that? He didn’t know. He’s never seen one before, but his mom told him about them—with sharp scary teeth and gills—because they had them where she was from. “Good. Here squirt—,” He tossed the bag on the floor, and Roy peered into it curiously. Clothes! “Put something on, okay?”

He grabbed the blue sweater on top and lifted it over his head. It was so soft! It was really big though… Roy waved his arms experimentally and found that the sleeves flapped over his hands. The pants were scratchy and hung loosely on his hips. “It’s too big.”

“You’ll grow into it.”

Roy huffed, blowing at his bangs. The weird shark man was mean…but he _did _get him more clothes. “Thanks,” he grumbled after a moment’s hesitation, because it was what his mom would have wanted him to say.

Greed stared at him instead of responded, jaw parted slightly, before he turned away with a shrug. “It’s not a gift,” he grumbled. “You’ll work for that, so don’t go thanking me yet.”

“Okay.” Roy wasn’t sure why Greed was being so weird about it, or exactly what he meant, but he accepted it readily.

“Uh, yeah.” Greed stood there, being awkward and confusing, before waving a hand and walking off. “I’ll figure something out for you later.”

He watched him go for a moment, wondering why the already weird adult seemed to be acting weirder, but he quickly turned his attention back to the clothes. They were big and awkward, but they were dried and clean, and Roy realized that clean clothes felt a lot better than dirty clothes. (Doing the laundry suddenly made more sense, given this discovery.) He picked at the pants especially, feeling uncomfortable in their sagginess, and decided to try on the other pair. Those fit better, being nearly close to his size. Pleased, Roy left the bathroom and decided to go back to his room.

Roy didn’t get lost—just a few wrong turns, he wasn’t lost—but made it back to that dead-end hall and scrambled into his chosen room with relief and triumph. There was a mattress in there now, he noted with surprise, thrown in the corner with some blankets and sheets piled on top of it. Roy had never seen a mattress without that stand-thing they went on before, so for some reason the sight of it alone was really cool. He bounced on it experimentally, pleased that it was soft and cushy. Just looking at it made Roy feel tired again, because even though he actually slept in a bed last night, unlike the other two nights when he was on the ground and barely slept at all, he was still tired. (He must need to catch up with his sleep, assuming it worked like that.) 

It needed sheets. Or, well, his parents said that beds needed sheets, but he couldn’t figure out why by looking at it; unable to determine a reason, Roy removed the folded sheets and set them to the side. Instead, his attention drew to the blankets, because Roy liked blankets. And it was still a little cold, his wet hair sticking to his neck and making his skin tingle. He unfolded the blankets—starting with the fuzzy one that he immediately decided was his favorite—and stretched them over the mattress, preparing it for nighttime.

It struck him as odd, to think about sleeping here again. He didn’t remember the first time that well, if he were being honest—just waking up in a big dark room, alone and in a place he didn’t recognize. He had had no idea what time it even was because it was too dark; Roy wasn’t afraid of the dark—he wasn’t—but it was weird not to have any windows or light to show it was morning. Or light to see with. He didn’t like not being able to see. (That was it, he wasn’t scared, because he wasn’t a baby.)

But now, Roy was familiar with the place, even though it was still new. It was still weird, too, to think that he would never go back home—to his old house—again. He couldn’t. It was gone, now, gone with his parents and his old life and everything else. There was a part of him that thought about going back, about trying to _find _his way back, but he scratched that from his brain violently. He _couldn’t_. Wouldn’t. He didn’t deserve to be there, anymore, because his parents were dead, and he wasn’t. He couldn’t stop them from dying. Mommy had once told him that she wouldn’t die—back when he was more of a baby and worried about all this talk of ‘leaving’ and ‘not well’—because _Roy _was there, and he would stop her from ever wanting to leave.

But she did anyway.

So it must be his fault.

The thought made his eyes sting with wetness and his throat constrict uncomfortably. It…was his fault. He didn’t even know what he did, because he was so _stupid_, but he was smart enough to know that he had been useless. And he was useless enough to not even _notice _that Daddy wasn’t well, either, because one moment he was there and standing and walking, and then he wasn’t moving. Wasn’t moving, wasn’t responding, wasn’t _breathing… _

A lot of people acted like Roy didn’t know anything because he was a kid, but he knew some things. He knew about death—that scary permanent thing that people never wake up from.

He found a bird one time, fallen on the ground in their yard. He had wanted to help it, but his mom had shaken her head sadly. _“It’s dead, my love,” she whispered. Her pale fingers prodded at the bird’s belly, and she coaxed him to do the same. “See? It’s cold, and it’s not breathing. There’s nothing you can do now but wish it well in the afterlife.” _

He knew they were dead. The knowledge crawled around his belly and made him feel sick, but he _knew_.

He knew that there was nothing he could do to help them now.

He _knew _it, but there was still a part of him that didn’t _understand. _

The frustration and the sadness of it all welled in his chest and closed his throat. Roy squeezed his eyes shut, desperately not wanting to cry, because babies cried and he was grown up—he _had _to be grown up, because first his parents needed help and now they were _gone_—but he selfishly and weakly couldn’t stop it, so he buried his face into his blankets to muffle the gasps and the screams.

Whenever he cried, either his mom or his dad would have come; Mommy would have rocked him gently and hesitantly, afraid to touch him even though he really wanted her to, whispering sweet nothings to him until he calmed down, promising (lying) that it would be alright; Daddy would have placed his firm hands on his shoulders, a steady and warm presence, while telling him that he had to keep his chin up and be a big, strong boy. But if neither one of them heard him cry, they wouldn’t come, and Roy wouldn’t disappoint them.

Roy stayed face down on the mattress, trying to make himself calm down and failing. Instead, he ended up accidentally falling asleep, stilling his bubbling worries in oblivion.

—o0o—

He woke up quickly, startled at the thought of taking a nap. Roy didn’t like naps, because only babies and sick people took naps and he was neither.

Scrambling away from the bed—which was actually really soft and comfortable—Roy remembered that Greed had said that he would find something for him to do. Roy would like to do something, because he was feeling bored and restless without his usual chores to do, and when he was bored he would just sit there and think, and as much as Roy loved to think, he didn’t want to do that right now—his brain couldn’t think about anything fun after… after…

Without thinking much more, Roy abruptly decided to leave the room and search out the strange man for himself.

Roy determined that he wasn’t _scared _of the tall man with shark-teeth and weird eyes and stupid clothes and strange sense of confident _power _about him… No, no, any misgivings he had about Greed were just heat of the moment, because it had been dark and he had been tired, and it wasn’t his fault that Greed was kind of _creepy. _However, Roy was brave, and he wouldn’t be scared off by the adult’s general weirdness; besides, Greed seemed simple and honest—if not downright silly—with the way he argued about things and acted like he knew what he was doing. Roy found it funny. And Roy figured that if the man with the funny name and insistence on wearing short sleeves in the winter hadn’t done anything _bad _to him (although he still didn’t forgive him for trying to give him that nasty, bitter drink), then he was harmless. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing Roy couldn’t handle.

Even if he was the weirdest adult Roy had ever met in his _life. _

He wouldn’t deny that he was curious about him, for that precise reason. Roy was still pretty sure that he had to be a shark, because he wasn’t _normal_, and if Bido was a lizard, then it was possible. His parents had never told him about animal-people before, but he knew about them now, and honestly, Roy found it really cool. Sure, they looked different, but Mommy always told him not to judge people by how looked—rather, but what they _did_—and they were both nice to him. (Well, Bido the Lizard Man was nice, while Greed was rude, but he wasn’t _mean,_ so Roy thought it was okay. His dad told him that _he _could be rude, too, and Roy didn’t think that _he _was bad.) Besides, how cool was it to have a tail! It was an extra limb, and Roy was sure that Bido could do a ton of extra, really cool stuff with it. He wanted to ask Bido what he used it for later.

Even though he had already been through them a few times before, the halls were still frustrating, like whoever made them _wanted _people to get lost in them. He was believing it to be true more and more, especially since it would mean his wandering wouldn’t be his fault. But, Roy was determined, so he made sure not only to keep going, but to take note of the rooms and the passages. He would remember them, and figure them out. He _would. _

Finally, he realized that on the other side of the kitchen was the ‘front’ and that that seemed to be where everybody was—at least, he heard voices. And…yep, that was Greed.

“What’re you doing back here, brat?!” a new voice shouted, causing Roy to twist his attention back to the kitchen. There was a man there with huge shoulders and drawings on his head instead of hair; he was glaring down at Roy like he did something wrong, but he _didn’t _do anything, so Roy glared back.

“I don’t need to tell you anything!” he spat back, uncomfortable with the new man. Why did he want to know? It was none of his business. He was reminded of how Greed had asked him a bunch of questions that was also none of his business, but he hadn’t been angry about it—just annoying.

“Like hell, you brat—!” The man moved forward, and Roy immediately felt the inexplicable need to get out of the way. However, the scary man stopped short as soon as a new voice interrupted.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing back here?!”

Roy knew that Greed was super tall, but he was even tall compared to the giant man in the kitchen, even if the scary kitchen man was wider.

“There’s a damn brat back here!” Scary-Kitchen-Man waved a utensil at Roy for emphasis.

“That’s **_my _**‘damn brat,’ you bugger!”

“Shit, Greed, he’s like _three_! Why did you bring a bloody toddler into—”

“Did I _ask _you?”

The two adults faced off, Kitchen-Man getting redder while Greed crossed his arms and glared. Roy simultaneously felt uncomfortable and fascinated by the scene in front of him.

“Gentlemen.” _Another_ man entered the room, holding a glass and a towel in his hand. He was sort of small, compared to the other too, but with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and a thin beard. “You do realize the language you are using in front of a child, don’t you?”

Greed scoffed. “They’re just words—I don’t see why it matters.”

Roy doesn’t exactly know _which _words they didn’t want him to hear, but he figured it were the ones he was less familiar with; almost immediately, Roy wanted to know the meaning of these forbidden words—they were probably bad, since Ponytail-Man didn’t want him to know. Well, too bad.

Ponytail-Man just stared, looking tired. “Suit yourself,” he mumbled, eyes rolling up to the ceiling.

“I still want to know why you decided it was a good idea taking some bloody street-baby in here,” Kitchen-Man huffed. “First the freak, now _this. _What kind of shitty charity are you running here?”

Greed glared some more. Roy expected him to get worked up and yell like he did before, but there was something…colder…this time. He actually looked a little scary. But, then, Greed laughed. “I don’t believe in charities, Patty—everyone works for their stay. You don’t have a problem with my men, do you?” He flashed his shark-teeth at Kitchen-Man. They seemed to freak the man out a little, because he shook his head very quickly. “That’s what I thought. Be-_sides_, the kid’s old enough to do _something. _Um…how old are you?”

“Five,” he replied immediately, if a little defensively. He glared at the adults and dared them to say anything because he _was _old enough. He _was. _

“Shit, five? That’s it?” Greed gaped at him, but Roy just stuck his tongue out at him.

“So?” he retorted. “Are old are _you_, then?” Roy knew his numbers, and he knew that really, he and adults wouldn’t be _that _far off. Greed looked younger than his dad anyway.

“Uh… That’s a tough one. Like, about one-hundred-and-seventy? Seventy-five? It’s hard to keep track.” Greed answered with a straight voice, but Roy just gaped at him because that wasn’t possible. It must be a joke, or a really badly told lie.

“Liar,” he accused.

Greed just laughed. “I never lie, kid.”

It wasn’t possible, though. Unless, maybe sharks lived a long time? He knew that some animals lived longer than humans, like turtles. Maybe sharks did too? Roy still thought it sounded fishy. Although, if it were true, then that meant that the Shark-Man really _was _waaay older than Roy, and he felt irritated at the implication of that.

“Whatever,” Kitchen-Man—Greed called him Patty—grumbled and turned back to his giant pot. “Just get the brat out of the kitchen; I’m brewing here!”

“Don’t boss me around,” Greed replied, but he walked over to Roy and motioned for him to follow. Roy did so, because he would rather be with the Shark-Man than the angry Kitchen-Man.

He followed Greed back down the hallway. They didn’t go as far as the backrooms and the bedrooms, but instead took a sharp turn earlier on; Roy hadn’t been this way before—he always found the kitchen before he ended up over here. There were stairs that lead down to another level, which he couldn’t help but to get a little excited over. His old house only had one floor, but some people had upstairs and downstairs. This place really was big! However, the downstairs looked boring; there were just a bunch of rooms with boxes of bottles or big plain barrels.

“You any good with sorting stuff, kid?” Greed asked suddenly. “Like, organizing?”

Roy thought about it. He cleaned his room, and the house, a lot of times, and that always meant putting things back where they belonged. He was good at it; since his mom was too sick to move most of the time, Roy had done it a lot. It always made her happy. He nodded.

“I’ve collected a lot of wine and brandy over the years—some other stuff, too,” he continued, gesturing to the boxes. “Some things I ordered, some things I picked up. Haven’t really touched it much, though, because I can barely keep up with what’s back here, and we mostly just brew beer ‘cause it’s quick and cheap.”

Roy wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, although he recognized some of the things he mentioned. His dad had liked to drink wine; he had told Roy that he was too young to drink it, so Roy never got to try any. He knew his mom didn’t like it though—she said it tasted nasty and made people stupid. His dad wasn’t stupid though, and he was always happier after having it, so Roy was never bothered by it.

But what was Roy supposed to do about it? He looked over the boxes and frowned at the way they were shoved in a corner and loosely stacked on top of one another. Some bottles weren’t even in boxes, and a lot of them were covered in dust. Yeah, it was really messy alright. However, he still wasn’t sure where it was _supposed _to go. Did it need a new place? He wasn’t sure where else it could go… Maybe the kitchen, because that’s where food went, but the kitchen didn’t look big enough.

As if sensing his oncoming questions, Greed spoke again. “Just sort all the bottles by date or alphabetically or something. Take inventory. That way, I’ll know what I got, and everyone’ll be able to find shit.”

Roy nodded in understanding but stopped short as he recounted the words. “Alpha- Alphabet…tick-ly?” It _sounded _like ‘alphabet’ which was something Roy knew, but he never heard the word like that. As much as it pained him to admit it, he wasn’t sure what it meant.

Greed stared down at him blankly, and it made Roy nervous. He didn’t want the adult to think he was stupid! He _wasn’t. _Roy glared back up, ready to defend himself.

“It means ‘in order of the alphabet,’ pipsqueak,” Greed answered finally, not addressing his lack of knowledge. It made Roy release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Like the ‘ABC’s’ and shit—you know your ‘ABC’s,’ right?”

Of _course, _he did! He wasn’t a _baby! _Roy nodded fiercely. “Yeah,” he declared, meeting his weird purple shark-eyes.

“Good,” he replied, nodding once. Greed returned the look and arched an eyebrow upwards. “You think you can handle it?”

“Yeah!” Roy answered immediately. He could do it. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would figure it out—he was sure of it. Even though the task was literally the most boring thing Roy could think of, he didn’t care that much right then because it was a challenge, and Roy liked challenges. He liked _beating _them.

And, Roy was still hurt over his last failure—quite possibly the biggest one that he could ever do. It stung, because it was his fault for failing, and Roy didn’t want to do that ever again. Greed may be rude and weird, but if the Shark-Man wanted him to do something, he wouldn’t fail. He _wouldn’t. _

Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never, ever thought I would ever refer to Bido as "Bido the Lizard Man" at all, yet here are.
> 
> Roy is 98% sure Greed is a shark chimera, and it cracks me up every time I write about it.


	4. Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than the others, but I felt like the other scenes I had in mind didn't fit the general vibe for this chapter. Also, I'm an idiot and lost my buffer, so that's why this chapter is late... Hopefully, I can maintain this, otherwise, Imma have to take a week off to catch up again.
> 
> Fun Fact: this was the quote on my senior high school yearbook.

"Sometimes you'll never know the value of a moment, until it becomes a memory."

— Theodor Seuss Geisel

* * *

_March 10, 1890_

Greed stuck around for the night again, but only because he was actually feeling the desire to lay down and rest. Mostly for his brain. He’s been thinking too much.

And it’s been a while. Even though homunculi didn’t _need _to sleep, or rest, it didn’t mean it wasn’t beneficial. Greed found he felt better and more clearheaded after naps; plus, it was nice to disconnect for a while.

He was ready—comfortable. Aside from the blissful non-thinking part, Greed liked the comfy-ness of beds and sleeping. Call him crazy, but after not having one, he liked the luxury of it—it was part of his greed.

However, Greed didn’t actually sleep for long. By nature, he was a light sleeper, since his body didn’t need the…whatever it was that humans actually _needed _sleep for. He was also fairly attentive, if he said so himself; maybe it was the fact that his primary job had been stalking around the sewers to protect Father’s inner sanctum, relegated to being a guard dog until even the chimeras began to replace him, or his present sense of paranoia that he wasn’t safe. He knew that there was a chance that the rest of his merry little shitstorm of a fake family wouldn’t believe that he was actually destroyed and come looking for him. And Greed really, _really _didn’t want to go back.

So, in his unconscious vigilance, he heard the noises in next room. It still baffled Greed that the kid would choose the one room near his when there were a ton in the back, with some of them bigger than the one he had chosen. He didn’t necessarily get the warm-fuzzies from the kid, even though Greed totally saved his sorry butt, but did this prove that the kid at least somewhat liked him? Was grateful? He would be lying if he said that he didn’t care one way or the other—happy henchmen were loyal henchmen—but sorting through the feelings was still uncharted territory. Regardless, he heard some shuffling and other muffled noises from the kid’s room, which was weird because it had to be some inhuman hour of the night, and he should be asleep. He _had been _asleep.

Greed tried to ignore the sounds and re-enter his state of rest, but his senses were already tuned into the next room. Kid didn’t seem to be up and about, but he was moving a lot, and…whimpering?

Without really thinking about it, Greed was already up and moving toward the room, a sense of morbid curiosity filtering his thoughts. He slowly cracked open the door, squinting into the dark room and catching the small form on the kid still in bed; his breathing was deep, though uneven, but he looked asleep. He shouldn’t be moving so much… Unless…

Greed had never experienced them, what with his lack of sleeping, but he knew about dreams…and nightmares. Not that he was sure what to _do _about them. The kid writhed some more, soft brow furrowed and cheeks wet despite his inattention to the world around him. He probably wouldn’t remember this come morning, if what Greed knew was accurate, but either way he felt like he was intruding upon something personal. Private, as moments of weakness should be. He didn’t want to invade the kid’s privacy now even if this was his building and he was making noise in the middle of the night.

Greed slowly closed the door back, promising himself to forget that he ever saw this.

_March 11, 1890_

Yesterday had been a slow day. The bar had been scarce due to the constant drizzle outside, and Greed had no more immediate things to consider, with the new barley shipments ordered and the kid settled. He had gone back to drawing his map, piecing his sketches together into a master copy.

He liked having it, even if Greed didn’t plan on traveling again any time soon; the knowledge that he _could _was enough for the time being, because even though Greed felt somewhat confident in his hiding, he liked back-up plans. And quick travel—efficiency was key in business, after all.

Having caught up with that project, Greed emerged from his quarters and discovered that a day had passed, which really shouldn’t have surprised him, but that’s what happens when none of the back rooms have windows. The best way to tell time was by sunlight, the need for food, and a sleep cycle, and he didn’t need any of those things—as nice as they were to have. Nevertheless, he felt the need to stretch his legs, so Greed elected to wander about his establishment to make sure everything was up to par.

He went down to the cellar first, making a nearly direct path to it. Sure enough, the kid was down there, albeit he looked disgruntled. Well, it wasn’t an exciting job, but Greed had determined it to be childproof. “Yo, kid,” he called, announcing his entrance. “How’s it coming?”

Roy scrunched his eyebrows together; it was kind of cute on his tiny little face. “I can do it.”

Slow going, huh? Well, the brat seemed determined, and Greed wasn’t in a hurry at the moment. There was a reason he had pushed this project back for so long now, after all. “Sure you can,” he agreed, a little bemused. He wasn’t sure what else to add here. It looked like the squirt was taking the bottles out of the boxes and then replacing them in a different order on the far wall. It was smart, to use the boxes to his advantage like that, especially since looking at it, Greed was sure his puny little human child arms wouldn’t be able to carry a full box.

Well, if he had it handled, then there was no reason for Greed to hover. Yet, he still felt bad about leaving the kid alone again as he headed back up the stairs. Eh. He’ll be fine.

_March 13, 1890_

“Why aren’t you ever at breakfast?”

The kid practically accosted him in the hallway, finger pointed like it was some sort of terrible accusation. It was funny, actually.

“Ha! Observant little squirt, aren’t ya?” Good to know. “I don’t eat.”

Roy tilted his head again, eyebrows drawing up. “But I’ve seen you eat.”

“I don’t _need _to eat,” Greed elaborated. He liked to eat, sometimes, but other times it was a waste of time and resources. He had collected plenty of money over the years, sure, but this was still a growing business and things weren’t as luxurious as he wanted. It pained him, but Greed was patient.

“Why not?”

Oi, he was full of questions, wasn’t he? It certainly wasn’t the first time that the little thing had pestered him, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Greed didn’t mind that much though, because for all of his questions, he could tell they were innocent—no ulterior motives, just the thirst for knowledge. It was something he could relate to. Besides, it was kind of fun to answer questions and know that the kid wasn’t capable of using that information against him—that kind of cunning seemed to be learned. Unless you were jumpstarted with it… “I’m a homunculus.”

The kid blinked at him. “Hu..human…clue-less?”

“No. Ho-mun-cu-lus.”

“Ho-mun-cu-lus.” The kid mouthed the word a few more times, seeming more perturbed by sounding it out than reacting to what he was. Most people freaked out. It was refreshing. “Is that a type of shark?”

“_Eh?_”

Greed was trying to figure out what the _fuck _he just asked him, completely bewildered by the turn in conversation. A _shark? _What the fuck was _that!? _

“A shark,” Roy continued, as if it was completely normal. “They got pointy teeth, like you!”

“Uh…” This was about his _teeth_?! “Okay?”

“They live underwater, but Bido is a lizard and he still does human stuff, so I figured you do too?” Roy gasped suddenly. “_Can _you breathe underwater?!”

“What, no!” Wait, could he? Does he need air? He still breathed, but his gut told him he wouldn’t die if he stopped. Pride caught him off-guard while sparring, one time, and blew out his lungs, but he was still fine. (Hurt like hell, though, but it always does.) Argh, it was confusing. “Or, uh, I don’t know, but I’m not a shark.” They seemed interesting, though, he had never heard of them before.

He drew his eyebrows together again. Ah, it was a sign of confusion, wasn’t it? He was catching on. “Then…what are you?”

“I told you kid,” Greed continued, a little exasperated at this point. “I’m a homunculus.”

There was a stretch of contemplative silence, but then the kid gasped again. Another revelation, eh? “Are you a _dragon_?!” He waved his arms about excitedly. “You have pointy teeth, you collect a lot of stuff, and you have that drawing on your hand!” he rattled, trying to prove to Greed his own species.

Greed couldn’t help it: he laughed. He had to lean against the wall for a moment, lest he tumble in his sudden fit of hysteria. This kid! This kid really had quite the unique brain on him, didn’t he? He doesn’t think he’s ever heard this kind of pure, unadulterated reasoning ever in his _life, _and that was a pretty long time.

“What?” The kid was looking pretty indignant, but that was a common expression on his young, baby face.

He could only laugh some more and ruffle the kid’s dark fluffy hair. Greed couldn’t sort through the feeling that warmed his skin, but it didn’t feel bad. “You’re pretty cool, kid. Never change.”

_March 16, 1890_

“Why are the _Bongo _labels before the _Blaring Stars_?”

“Um…” The kid scuffed his shoes on the floor, shuffling through the bottles to squint at the offending labels. “They started with ‘B’?”

He should have seen this coming, really. Greed sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gotta look at the second and the third letters too.”

“Oh.”

Greed groaned loudly, lamenting the situation, but he forced himself to grow quiet when he saw the kid flinch slightly, curling into himself. Damnit, he looked so sad—like a kicked puppy. “Here.” He grabbed two bottles at random. “These both start with ‘D’ but look—”

Roy scrunched his brows again and tried to read the label. “Da—Da-uh…puh—hin?”

“No, it’s Dauphin—D-ow-fin.” What was with this kid trying to sound out every word? “Shit, kid, can’t you read?”

“Yes!” he cried. Immediately. Defensively. “I— I was getting better at it, but… But…”

Oh shit, was he crying? Greed’s mental processes grounded to a halt, a little frightened by the dissolving state of the child. “Look, kid—”

“I’M NOT STUPID!” He looked fierce—desperate—amidst the tears. “I’m…I’m not…”

_“I’m not stupid!”_

_“Oh yeah?” The woman snorted, a derisive sound that made Greed’s skin crawl. “Then what does that sign say?”_

_“I don’t have to answer to you!”_

_She laughed, and he knew it was mocking. It sounded just like Envy, and he felt a shiver of fear along with the other, numbing sensation that crawled into his throat._

_“What kind of grown ass man doesn’t know how to read?”_

The kid was still learning, wasn’t he? Humans had to learn how to read, just like they had to learn everything else. It made sense, in this moment of hindsight, that it must occur somewhere around this age, because babies could barely speak, and adolescents were already running around trying to be adults. The kid…he must have only started, if his relationship with words was anything to go by.

Humans had to learn how to do things, but for the most part, homunculi didn’t. They were created with knowledge already bestowed upon them, but among the six children of Father, different pieces of knowledge were partitioned about.

Greed wasn’t made with the knowledge of how to read. He was a guard dog—a warrior—so it wasn’t necessary. One of the many luxuries he wasn’t afforded. And in those damn sewers, it hadn’t mattered. No, it hadn’t mattered until Greed was out there, alone in the world and realizing that there was so much that he didn’t have—_couldn’t _have—because the world was locked away behind letters he couldn’t ascertain. It was humiliating. Greed remembered the helplessness and how much he hated it. Just like with everything else, he had to claw his way from the ground up, teaching himself how to read with little more than grit, books, and the occasional kind soul that was few and far in between.

He saw a similar frustration welling up in the kid’s tears. Geez, he felt like a jerk, putting the kid on an assignment he barely knew how to do. Well, it couldn’t stay like that—the kid would have to learn. He _would_. And unlike Greed, he would have help.

Perhaps that was an advantage of humans—community. They didn’t wade through things alone, and if they didn’t have people, they had books and knowledge passed down in other ways. It must be for that reason that humans can still thrive and grow despite their short, miserable lives. Heh, it was almost enough to make him jealous, but Greed didn’t think he had it in him. (He wasn’t his siblings, after all.) However, it left him longing. Although…maybe it was attainable after all.

He was Greed—he would get _everything. _

But even he knew of the law of equivalent exchange: there were some things you had to give in order to get, like money for objects or time for loyalty. As long as the cost wasn’t high, Greed was willing to play along.

“I’ll teach you how to read, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the little bits of fluff. Next chapter, we get to the dark stuff. Heh. Heheheheh...
> 
> Also, help: I cannot unthink Greed being a dragon (a quasi immortal hoarder), so I shall make you suffer the same fate.
> 
> As always, I thrive off of comments! I always enjoy hearing y'all's thoughts. And, if anyone has ideas for little fluff scenes, I will see if I can fit them in. If I can't... Well, I'm definitely going to be starting a side story with a bunch of little ficlets that doesn't fit into this story, although I'll probably wait a bit to post it so I don't spoil my own story...


	5. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greed settles into a routine. However, sometimes routines get interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the wait. I really wanted to keep this story somewhat consistent, but over winter break and into this semester... Well, some personal stuff happened and it was hurtful and stressful, and honestly, it killed my motivation to write. It was all I could do to keep my head above water at times. However, I'm back now and all that stress can be moved to our favorite homunculus! I can't promise consistent updates yet, but I will do my very best to keep them somewhat frequent.

"Gold, gold, bones, bones  
And all that useless  
Gold, gold, bones, bones  
Where did you bury your heart?"

—Flyleaf, "Bury Your Heart"

* * *

_April 25, 1890_

“The brat fell asleep again,” Patrick reported sourly. The man all but slammed a pot onto the stove, ready to prepare another batch of beer. “He’s drooling on the table.”

Greed heaved a long exhale out through his nostrils. He really didn’t understand kids’ sleeping schedules: he knew they needed, like, twelve hours of sleep or something equally ridiculous. He catered to the tiny human as best he could, but the kid was a damn stray cat, falling asleep on anything, anytime. When he wasn’t cleaning, reading, or peeping around the bar, he was probably asleep. Roy never liked to be caught asleep—he would get huffy and offended, which made the whole ordeal worth it, in Greed’s opinion.

After the fiasco with the bottle-sorting, Greed put the kid on cleaning duty, because it was easy and kid-friendly, and best yet, nobody else ever wanted to it. The Devil’s Nest closed at 3:00, rid itself of its patrons by 3:15 (because he was efficient, thank you very much), and the kid’ll clean the main room after. Ideally, he would finish by four and sleep until three in the afternoon, but falling asleep on the job seemed to be an increasingly occuring habit.

Greed didn’t care as long as the kid did his part, which he usually did. He did hope that the kid will grow out of it, eventually, because Greed wasn’t keen on him conking out in random places. It was inconvenient.

He entered the bar, eyes immediately finding and falling on the little human. Roy was at the end of the bar-top, upper body laying on the surface and the cleaning rag underneath his outstretched hand. Damn, kid was drooling, too.

It was…really amusing, actually. Cute, even. Greed stared at the scene, chuckling to himself and wishing he had a way to save the picture, before finally jabbing a finger into the kid’s shoulder.

“_Uhnnn…_” he groaned, shifting to a more comfortable position.

That was the other thing: Roy was absolutely terrible at waking up.

He could pester the kid some more, prompting him to drag himself to his room (complaining the entire time, because he was grumpy when he was half-asleep), or, Greed could speed the process along.

With increasing practice, Green scooped an arm underneath his chest and the other underneath the knees, hefting him up. He was still _ridiculously _light, but it was probably normal for his age. The kid stirred a little bit, but just like the last few times, he didn’t wake up. Greed carried him to his room, nudging the door open with his foot and depositing him on his bed. It was still just a mattress on the floor, because Roy thought it was “cool” that way. He didn’t like the idea that he wasted the money and the effort in getting the bedframe, but it also saved him the manpower in assembling it. Well, if the kid ever changed his mind, Greed was inclined to let him assemble it himself—the instructions were mostly pictures, so he was confident the kid wouldn’t have trouble with it. Of course, he was an absolute runt and probably wouldn’t be able to pick up the pieces without trouble. Damn, they had to work on that…

Roy twitched in his sleep, making a vague grabbing motion with the hand that was holding the rag. Ha, funny squirt, he was; nobody could say he wasn’t dedicated to his task.

In fact, the ferocity Roy took on jobs and projects with was impressive, even when Greed expected his men to be effective. Kid was crazy stubborn, whether it was cleaning or learning how to read. It was like he saw everything as a challenge, and he refused to lose them.

As long as he got through his task, Greed supposed. It was just the least…well, kid-like feature of the kid. Unless kids really _were _that stubborn; Greed just didn’t know. The book he picked up a few weeks ago was mostly on health functions and didn’t say much about behavior.

Whatever, he was sure it would work out; everybody had their quirks, after all.

Greed shut the door and returned to the bar, swiping away any drool and the imprint of the kid’s cheek from the counter and throwing the rag in the bucket. At least the kid finished the rest of it, as he usually did. Perhaps it wasn’t the best or most thorough of jobs (he couldn’t reach higher than halfway up the walls, and he couldn’t put any of the glasses back, because he was a tiny squirt) but it wasn’t bad either. It was worth his keep, at least.

He took the cleaned glasses and put them back in the cabinets, since Patrick was busy with the new batch and Jack didn’t come in until noon, a little before they opened for the day. Greed looked forward to the day when Roy was tall enough to finish this himself—or, better yet, when Greed had even _more _men to call his own to do this kind of menial shit—but he recognized that that wasn’t the case now. Building an empire from the ground up was hard, but he had time. He’ll obtain everything one day, no matter what.

“The hell you puttin’ up glasses for, boss?”

Greed shifted his gaze lazily to the kitchen door, where Patty was watching with crossed arms. “Because the kid’s the size of a dog, and I built these cabinets without you tiny humans in mind.” He shifted a glass to the top shelf, looking down at Patrick’s bald head, to prove his point. Seriously, there were some tall people out there, but not nearly as many as Greed would have thought.

Patrick scoffed. “I still think there’s no way that brat can pull his weight around here.”

“He can fit into the little corners nicely though. Kid got cobwebs out from inside the pantry that I didn’t even know were there.”

“Tch.” Patrick walked away, grumbling something underneath his breath, but Greed shrugged it off. The man was good at what he did, but damn, he was opinionated sometimes. Greed didn’t care so long as he did his job, but it was aggravating to think that he was being questioned. _Greed _was the boss here, and everyone would do well to remember that.

As much as he wasn’t opposed to shows of violence, Greed didn’t want to jump to threatening his men into submission, however. It was too much like something _he _would do, and even if he was birthed from him—was a _part _of him—Greed didn’t want to be anything like him.

He was probably just overreacting though. Besides, if any problems cropped up, it was nothing Greed couldn’t handle.

—o0o—

“The red dog g— jumped o-ver the—” The sentence was split with a brief yawn. “—fence. The red dog was hap-pee.”

“You don’t need to emphasize it that much: it’s just ‘happy.’”

“…I knew that…”

“Sure, kid. Sure.”

After a pause, Roy kept reading, focused on the book like it was an important document while Greed made sure to keep a good enough eye on the words to spot whenever Roy messed up. Overall, the squirt was doing well. He over-emphasized syllables too much, and sometimes the ‘j’-‘g’ sounds messed him up, but he could read the stupid little learning-to-read book cover to cover without getting completely stuck. Greed was ready to move him onto the next level, because if he listened to the story about the red dog one more time, he was going to frisbee the book through a window.

In the afternoons, when Roy woke up and the bar was still in its early stages of activity, Greed would help him learn to read. He had been serious when he offered—because really, how useless was someone who couldn’t _read_, and he would know—and the kid was just as adamant about learning. He was as obsessive about it as he was about everything else. They would spend an hour or two nearly every day working on phonetics, and Greed suspected that he practiced on his own. It was a wonder the kid didn’t go insane, staring at that same damned book.

“—red dog said, ‘I like to—’”

Regardless, _he_ was about to go insane. “That’s enough,” he grumbled, cutting Roy off before he had to hear about the dog’s fondness for running in the park _one more time_. “I think you can graduate from this book now, yeah?”

The kid blinked at him, book still hanging open in his lap. “Graduate?” he echoed.

“It means you’re done. Completed. You did it, so you can move on to better stuff,” Greed explained. The squirt was more open about asking questions now, he noticed. Greed didn’t know why he had gradually come to this point, but at least it meant that there were no repeated ‘misunderstanding’ incidents. Besides, it would be a lie that he wasn’t at least a little flattered that the kid recognized Greed as a source of knowledge, so he really didn’t mind answering simple questions here and there. There was no reason not to—although sometimes it was to the point of being obnoxious.

“Oh!” Roy brightened visibly. “So, I can read a new, harder book now?!”

“Yup,” he drawled. “I’ll get you a new one for tomorrow.”

“Do you have any more about the red dog?” the kid asked excitedly.

“If I do, I’m burning them.”

Roy pouted at that, but Greed could tell by that mischievous little spark in his dark eye that the kid wasn’t really upset. (When he _was _upset, he tried very hard to hide it.) It didn’t last long, however, as the kid bounced out of his seat and continued. “What other kind of books do you have? More story books?”

“Most of the kid books are, yeah.” Greed had other books too, because books were easy to collect. Most of the ones he had for Roy were the easy garbage that he picked up when he was teaching himself, but even though he never would have imagined needing them anymore, he couldn’t just _throw them away. _He was _Greed. _

“Do you have any books on _dragons?!_”

Of course, that’s what he wanted; at this point, he was hardly surprised, but still deeply amused. “Ha! I can’t remember, but I’ll look ‘kay? No promises though.”

Roy really didn’t seem bothered by the lack of certainty, which was good because he didn’t want to deal with a mopey kid. “Okay!” he chirped, waving as he scurried away from the room, probably back to his own—or wherever the kid went before closing time.

Greed left the ‘sitting room’ that consisted of a small table, a few chairs, and a couch that Jack showed up with one day for an unexplainable reason (but it was a free couch and it was _his _now, so that was all that mattered) that everyone seemed to enjoy, although Greed never really understood why. Open territory, he supposed—which honestly, Greed could get behind. It made for a better place for meetings than the kitchen did, and it was also better for mundane things like reading lessons. It felt pretty empty the way it was, though; maybe he would have to look into that.

It didn’t sound like much was going on bar-side about now, so Greed went ahead and strolled deeper into the building to some of his personal storage rooms. “Where did I put those books again…” he grumbled to himself. He needed to get organized again—he had let things go since starting up the bar. Finally, he found the stacks of books that he had picked up over the years, and the box where he stuffed those dreaded learner-books that he suffered through.

He had almost thrown them out. The only reason he didn’t was his own need to store up possessions—because throwing _anything _away was a waste and frankly painful to think about—but that didn’t mean that Greed wanted to look at them. They were a reminder of his own inadequacy and of a very…frustrating…time of his life. However, the discomfort he once felt about them was mitigated by the fact that they were being used by someone else now, put use again when he had been content to let them rot. Now, they were a testament to Roy’s plight, not his. And one day, Roy wouldn’t need them either.

“Heh.” It was strangely satisfying to think that these were no longer his—yet they were in a way. Greed rifled through them absently, stopping when he spotted a familiar illustration. “So, I had one after all…”

Greed plucked the dragon storybook out of the pile, closed the box, and wondered if he would show the kid the book now or tomorrow.

_April 26, 1890_

“Where’s the kid?” It was well into the next afternoon now, and though sometimes Roy slept longer some days than others, he was strangely punctual when it came to things—especially their reading lessons. Maybe it was the kid’s obsession with time, staring at the window to look at the sun or always pestering Jack, who carried a pocket watch. He wasn’t in his room though.

“Hell if I know,” Patrick shrugged, filling a tap for one of the early customers.

Hmph. That wasn’t helpful. Greed slunk out of the front room before too many people came in, still a little perturbed that the kid wasn’t around. Normally, he was off to his own devices; Greed didn’t care what the kid did when he wasn’t cleaning or in their lessons, and even then, the second one was optional.

Well, he wasn’t going to search the whole damn place for the squirt, if it came down to that. Maybe he was flaking.

Which would be weird, because the kid hasn’t yet…

“What’s up, boss?” Jack appeared around the corner, a box of clean glasses in his grip, eyebrow raised in expectation.

“Eh. Nothing much,” Greed shrugged, determined that he was overthinking things. “I just didn’t see the kid anywhere.”

Unlike his other subordinate, Jack seemed to grow more disturbed at this. “I haven’t seen him since he gathered the trash last night. He’s not in his room?”

“You think I haven’t checked?” Greed shot back irritably. Damn. This was all overblown. “I’m sure he’ll pop up eventually. Brat probably fell asleep somewhere inconvenient again.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Jack promised, the weird tenseness in his brow not gone.

“Yeah, do that.”

Greed headed back towards his space. Well, if the kid was going to flake on him, then he wasn’t going to sit around on his ass; he might as well be productive, or something… However, he didn’t get far into his new tasks, because the little squirt kept on pestering his thoughts. It’s not like it was _his _problem if the kid ran off somewhere. He didn’t keep tabs on Patrick or Jack outside of work.

They weren’t little twigs though. Geez, what if a crate fell on him? Humans were squishy, and kids were squishier still.

“Argh!” Greed turned around with a loud huff. Damnit, he wasn’t going to have any peace of mind until he laid eyes on the kid, was he?! Sometimes he wondered if humans really _were _more trouble than they were worth.

He paced up the hallways and peered into all the rooms, but there was no sign of him. There were no signs off some terrible accident either. Greed even circled back around to Roy’s room and the front in case he just missed the little squirt or something, but there was still nothing. He checked the basement, and he checked the entrance to the underground tunnels, even though he doubted the kid had the strength to open the hidden door. Everything yielded nothing, however; there was no trace of him.

Well… Jack said the last he saw him he was taking out the trash. He didn’t _think _Roy ever left the building, but it was possible the kid just went outside. Even though Greed doubted it would lead to anything, he slipped outside and headed towards the dumpster.

Instead of finding nothing, or the kid, he just found more questions. The bag of trash was on the ground, its contents partially spilled over. Sure, the kid was short, but he could make the throw before. It just…didn’t seem like him to leave it. Greed moved closer to survey the scene, and all he got were more red flags. The lid was open, some of the trash was crushed as if trampled, and…

And one—_one_—of Roy’s shoes was lying on the ground.

Greed had seen enough in his day, in his hundred years of being some dirty weapon, to recognize the proof of a struggle.

That bubbling irritation that had been rising in his gut since the beginning immediately sank into dread. There were so many things that could have happened to him. He was small and frail and probably couldn’t throw a punch to save his life… Shit. _Shit_. He could be _dead. _

That thought alone gripped Greed’s heart like a vice, leaving him frozen in place and panicked. Death meant nothing to him. It wasn’t his problem. Sure, humans died and that was what made them weak. It happened. It was so…_permanent_.

He didn’t want that. Greed didn’t want to die and…he didn’t want the kid to die either. It wasn’t fair. It… Greed grappled with the icy feelings in his veins, weighing him down and tearing at him.

Maybe it was anger. _Possessiveness. _Yes—that kid was _his. **HIS. **_And no one—**NO ONE**—touched **_his _**things and lived to tell the tale.

Greed would find whoever **_dared _**touch **_his kid_**, and he would make them regret ever being alive in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least I didn't make it to this cliffhanger before my life got in the way, am'i'right?


End file.
